Starting Point - Elle Aycart Page 0,2

for the life they were taking. “You know where I stand.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hunting is only acceptable as a means of survival. Big, bad special forces dude—you were never so tenderhearted about shooting humans.”

Damn right. “Animals have never tried to shoot me.”

Sean ignored that. Like always. “You’re driving on a logging road, by the sound of it. Why didn’t you stay at the hotel in Grand Rapids? You could have rested a bit and then gone out to party. Fuck some pretty thing. God knows they throw themselves at you all the time.”

“Not interested.” Neither was his dick. Hadn’t been for a long while now. Meaningless sex was just exercise, a form of release that wasn’t worth the awkward aftermath. Too much trouble. “It would have been tempting fate to spend any more time near those jackasses than required. I’d have shot them.” He’d been about to in the forest. Several times.

“Good call then, not staying. Cops tend to frown upon murder. Future clients might too.” Sean’s voice turned a little more serious. A little. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

At that moment, Alec noticed one of the rental cabins he managed was totally dark. One of the rented cabins. He frowned. “You owe me more than one, punk. Almost home, talk to you later.”

There were no lights on anywhere on the property, no smoke coming from the chimney, which was odd because Heather had told him a city girl had picked up the keys that afternoon. He was running on fumes, and the last thing he wanted was to smile and be polite and make small talk. Not even the star shower filling the sky could keep his interest. Still, he navigated a K-turn and drove up the hillside. He’d check that everything was in order and take the chance to introduce himself to the new tenant. Heather had great instincts about people, but she also had a soft heart and Alec liked to keep on top of stuff just in case. Ensure everything run smooth and no one took advantage of the old lady. He’d offered a million times to manage the online bookings, but Heather had refused, and Alec knew better than to insist. Her stubbornness was legendary, which had actually served her well. And him. If she hadn’t been so hard-headed all those years ago, when Alec had first come to live with her, she would have sent the angry teenager back into the system right away. She wouldn’t have been the first, either.

Hopefully this would be a fast stop. In and out. Minimum niceties. He had an overdue date with his bed, and his patience was at a historical all-time minimum.

As he approached the cabin, the headlights of his truck illuminated a small bundle lying in a chair in the front yard, arm hanging over the side. No gloves. What the fuck? There was a bottle in the snow—a glass too. A quilt discarded nearby. Fantastic.

He cut the engine and got out of the cab. Had the stupid city girl passed out in the cold, not even properly dressed? “Yo, lady.”

No answer. No movement either.

The hair at his neck prickling, he broke into a run. Shit, her lips were turning blue, and she was cool to the touch. “Wake up!” he said, shaking her and patting her cheek.

Nothing.

Fuck.

He checked her pulse. Frail, but there. He had to get her body temperature up, pronto.

Lifting her in his arms, he hurried to the porch. The cabin was locked. Damn. Thank God he always carried the master key, because he could kick this door to kingdom come and it would not give way. After some juggling to retrieve the key, he got the cabin open. Leaving the woman on the sofa, he ran to his truck, grabbed a Mylar blanket, and dashed back. The fire in the stone hearth was all but extinguished, so he threw a log on to rekindle it.

She was still unresponsive. Waiting for the fire to warm the place up was not an option, and her jeans and shirtsleeve were soaked. He yanked the wet clothes off her—wool jacket, jeans, sweater—until she was down to her underwear and a spaghetti-strap camisole, which were the only dry garments. Peeking from the upper edge of the camisole was a beautiful dragon tattoo that seemed to cover her chest. Her flat chest. This close, he couldn’t help noticing the ravages of what looked like a double mastectomy. Breast cancer? The colorful tattoo did a good job of drawing